How To Celebrate
by Eumenidies
Summary: It takes a Slytherin to show the Griffindors how they should be celebrating. One Shot. Contains Swearing.


He surveyed the room gloomily. A mismatch of people stood around awkwardly, trying to balance plates, glasses and conversation with people they didn't particularly like.

_Typical Griffindors. Couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery, let alone a decent victory celebration._

He took a swallow from the champagne glass in his hand and grimaced. Warm.

_Not only that; cheap. I wouldn't even give this stuff to house-elves._

Frowning, he scanned the room again, looking for something to lighten the seemingly endless boredom of this evening; at least until that half-wit Hagrid got drunk enough to humiliate himself with that trick with the balloons and a small cocktail umbrella he did every party, then swore he would never do again.

_Dull, dull, dull, dull, dull, du… _

His frown cleared slightly, as the crowd parted to allow him a sight of the only people in the room who actually seemed to be having a good time. The man who still hadn't died, his idiot friend, oh yes, and the girl in the middle of the pair… a little too thin, with a hairstyle that was too old for her, and visible signs that the face that was now laughing had seen a little too much care for her age. The corners of his mouth twitched cruelly.

_This could be fun…_

He abandoned his unwanted glass on the nearest table and stalked around the edge of the room, approaching his prey from behind; surprise is one of the best forms of attack.

'Pothead, Weasel. You survived. Pity. Still, I always said old Voldy was a lousy shot.'

The two span round instantly; wands out and frowns of determination on their faces; at least until they saw who it was.

'Malfoy, mate! I didn't think they'd let you out of St Mungo's yet!'

'Glad you made it, it wouldn't have been the same without you!' said the redhead, attempting to fling his arms around the tall blond in front of him, who fended him off with a look of horror on his face.

'Dear Founders and forefathers! How much did you let him drink this time, Pothead?'

'I resent that allegation!' roared the redhead, drawing himself up proudly 'I'll have you know I am completely and utterly shober!' A claim that was somewhat ruined by the fact the he instantly dissolved into giggles and flopped back into his chair.

Rolling his eyes, Malfoy turned to acknowledge his true prey, seeming to notice her for the first time, although it would have taken some doing for anyone not to notice a glare of pure hatred like that one.

'Malfoy. I'm amazed you have the courage to show your face here.'

'I've earned my place here, Muddy, just like the rest of you.'

'We didn't need you, Malfoy. Not with the blood on your hands.'

'Mione, this really isn't the time, besides, he never actually killed any…'

'Shut up, Harry!'

'Yeah, shut up Pothead. Muddy here needs to vent. Something about dirty blood, wasn't it?'

The echoes from the slap resounded around the room and all conversation stopped abruptly. Suddenly, the focus of the whole room was on the tall blond with a red handprint on his pale skin, and the small brunette in front of him, panting from the release of all the aggression she had been keeping bottled up for far too long now.

'I've been waiting to do that again since the third year.'

'Really?'

He took a step towards her, a strange light in his eyes that she had never seen before, and suddenly she was unsettled and slightly scared. Almost involuntarily she took a small step back, unable to tear her eyes from his as a flash of triumph flickered over his face.

'I've been waiting about that long to do this.'

And somehow he had hold of her, and was crushing her against him possessively, claiming her lips with a ruthlessness that was entirely expected of him, but never in this way. She tried to pull away from him, to free herself from the arm that twined around her waist, the fingers in her hair, cradling her head, but despite herself, her eyes began to drift closed and she began to lose herself in the sensation, feeling unexpectedly fragile and safe.

He slowly pulled away from her and smirked down at her. That damn smirk! So self-assured, so smug… Her fingers began to itch…

The rest of the room let out the breath that they had been holding without realising it and turned to each other to begin gossiping. It was the whispering that was the final straw for Hermione. She smiled sweetly and drew back her hand to strike, only to have Malfoy grab her wrist and use it to fling her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift.

'_Malfoy, you arse! What the hell do you think you're doing!'_

'Anyway, Potter. Lovely party, typical Griffindor…'

'_Put me down this instant, you smug, self-satisfied bastard!'_

'lots of people I can't be bothered to talk to…'

'_Harry, you moron! Do something!'_

'but I'm afraid we have to be going, I think it's about time Mione and I had a celebratory shag…'

'_Malfoy, I swear I'll hex your bloody balls off!'_

'Um, are you sure?'

'TTFN, Potter; don't worry, we'll send you an invite for the wedding!'

And with that he apperated.

Ron, who had been sitting there with his mouth open, seemed to return to life at this point, turning bright red and spluttering.

'Harry, we have to do something – go save her – she needs us!'

'No, she doesn't.' He replied thoughtfully. 'She needs Malfoy, she just hasn't quite realised it yet.'

Ron subsided, muttering.

'Well, I suppose all that tension between them had to mean something, but I think it's a bit off implying Griffindors can't throw a good party. After all, what better way to celebrate finally defeating Voldemort than a few drinks with your mates, eh? Harry? Eh? Are you even listening?'

Harry, who had apparently been lost in deep thought, started slightly and looked across at his friend.

'Sorry, Ron. I was just wondering, have you seen Ginny?'


End file.
